


In a forest old and deep

by Cirilla9



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle, Blood and Gore, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Curses, Horror, M/M, Oath of Fëanor, Rape, Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath, Sex in the forest, Spoils of War, fighting over shiny things, typical Noldor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: Written for the prompt: "What his mother rejected he shall take." Celegorm/Dior. Set during the Sack of Doriath.





	In a forest old and deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Urloth (CollyWobbleKiwi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollyWobbleKiwi/gifts).



> 1\. the full request:  
> "What his mother rejected he shall take. Please use the words: duende, animus, ascetic, oracular, and, whirligig. Silver Haired Celegorm."
> 
> 2\. Special thanks to my beta Jenni, who did an amazing job of improving this fic, correcting my mistakes and answering all the doubts I had concerning the plot. It was a pleasure to work with you!
> 
> 3\. I have really enjoyed writing this piece and I hope so will you while reading it, Urloth ;). This was an awesome request (<3!!!) and I hope I did it at least a little justice it deserved.

They fell at Doriath in the full daylight, no longer restrained by any existing boundaries, not caring that the goddess of the Sun, Arien, is a witness to their degeneracy, dealing death before her very eyes.

  
People of Doriath, deprived of Melian’s Girdle protection, were helpless to stop Feanorian forces at their borders and once the Oath’s keepers tore inside, helpless to their rage.

  
Maedhros, in bloodied armor, determined look upon his face and cold fire burning in his grey eyes like molten silver was the scariest. With the crude blade replacing his lost hand, burying it in the victims’ guts, he resembled an orc to the terrified Sindar; an impression strengthened whenever a curse in Black Speech left his mouth.

  
Maglor, though sad and bearing grim expression, did not hold back. He inflicted lethal blows without hesitation, following his older brother and leader like his dark shadow. The melody he played that day wasn’t coming from his harp but from the throats of those he slayed and their anguished cries were the saddest lament he had ever created.

  
Silver Haired Celegorm fought like a beast. Clad in skins peeled from the wolves he had killed, he could be mistaken for one of the Dark Lord’s terrifying servants that inhabited Tol-in-Gaurhoth once. He was the only one that laughed during the battle and his mad grin could freeze even the bravest Sinda’s heart before he fell under Celegorm’s spear.

  
Caranthir let all his anger roar free, quenching it in the Sindar figures around him. He wore a scowl, his teeth were bared and face inflamed from strain. Black haired Morifinwë, his one shade darker skin standing out clearly against the fair Sindar surrounding him, killed those who survived the attack of his Dwarvish acquaintances with blades forged in these same ironworks of Belegost and Nogrod.

  
Curufin fought with the same cold precision as he did every single thing in his life. His movements, while sophisticated, were parsimonious – a slight cut of carotid artery there, a quick push at momentarily unprotected throat – and his prey fell dead beneath his feet. Curufin kept silent, his mouth thinly shut, his face, so disquietingly similar to Fëanor’s, an unreadable mask; the fifth son being a calmer, colder reflection of his father.

  
Ambarussa got his bow and arrows, the weapon practiced to mastery during countless hunts he took part in in the forests of east Beleriand, now used to kill grey elves as effectively as once hunting game. Feathered arrows flew in the air amidst the trees, never missing their marks. They seemed to rush from all directions, as the archer wielding them ran through the forests, changing positions so quickly that many of the Sindar wondered if his brother hadn’t come back from the grave to aid his twin and together they were slaughtering grey folk as two demons with fiery hair.

 

* * *

 

 

\- Murderer!

  
He didn’t know what made him detect that particular voice, single it out from all the rest of shouting and screaming and cursing at them and the Oath. Maybe it was the familiar cadence, the intonation that he had heard already, years ago. That association was enough, though, to make him halt in his battle fervor, to still his hand for a moment from delivering the deathly blows.

  
Celegorm turned from the red blood stained earth before him, gore still dripping from his blade, and there he saw a prince. Or rather an imposing king now.

  
He had always thought the sobriquet “the Fair” a poetic exaggeration. Seeing Dior from such a close distance made him change his mind. Eluchíl’s duende was undeniable.

  
Dior stood among the trees, ruffled from the battle, clothes in disarray and hair flowing wildly, held together by a gold circlet upon his head. He held a sword in his raised hand. There was no Silmaril on his forehead but his eyes shone brightly like the stars themselves. His face, even though sneering in anger now, was one of the most beautiful sights Celegorm had witnessed during his long life in Arda. And the hunter of Oromë saw many wonders of nature: wolves chasing their prey together, a hoard of wild galloping horses on the plain of Ard-Galen, a hawk rising gradually in the air to dive suddenly with a protracted cry.

  
Only his mother surpassed him in beauty. His features were so alike hers though Celegorm saw her once more in his memory as clearly as if she stood right beside him. He was reminded of their time in Nargothrond, of many days spent admiring her, of nights filled with unsatisfied desire, nights that lasted too long with her so close, only few chambers away, and yet so far, her spirit with Beren wherever he wandered, sent to destruction by him and his brother.

  
\- You call me murderer, - he called back to the proud figure of Doriath ruler, - yet it is you who brought this fate upon your kinsmen when you rejected our righteous demand. Their lives lay on your shoulders.

  
\- Do not try to ease your conscience through shifting responsibility on someone else, kinslayer.

  
Dior did not cower before him, he stood upright, looking Celegorm straight in the eyes and confidence rang in his voice as he spoke. Celegorm was reminded of his mother refusing the offer of marriage in haughty, decisive words; how she stood before him, glorious and arrogant, rejecting him, who was the son of the Mightiest among the Noldor, choosing a mere mortal over him. Over his legendary fairness, some hairy barbarian.

  
The fruit of that betrayal stood right before him now. Echoes of his savage father reflected in him: his shoulders were too wide for an Elda, his chin darkened by a shadow of a stubble, his jaw too square. The son of the fairest among the Elves and the mortal man.

  
\- Silmaril is my heritage as well as this kingdom, - continued Dior and Celegorm smiled sharply at his words, - I inherited the jewel after my parents who valiantly tore it from Morgoth himself while you and your lot cowered in strongholds!

  
\- Inheriting what never belonged to them doesn’t make you the owner. You are a thief, just like your parents were.

  
Dior let out a cry and charged at Celegorm with raised sword. Silver haired elf stepped out of his way and dodged the intended blow, knocking the blade aside with the spearhead. Dior didn’t lose his balance, whirling around quickly and facing Celegorm once more, ready to strike.

  
Celegorm, grinning, stepped around him slowly, observing his reactions, assessing his strength and fighting style. Dior followed his movements with wary eyes. Then, hot-headed as his father, jumped at his opponent once more.

  
He feigned the strike from the right and devised one from the left. Celegorm blocked him as before, his white teeth, outstanding in blood splashed face, flashed as he moved. He made a counterstrike but Dior managed to evade spear striking with snake’s fastness. The next one too. And the next. He blocked the fourth.

  
Celegorm felt rising ire at how the boy succeeded in dismissing his blows so far. That was the child that dared to lay his hands on their Silmaril. That offended Celegorm with mere existence, with every breath he drew reminding him of his failure. Celegorm quickened his attack.

  
Not only flaunting their Silmaril, thought Celegorm, aiming the blunt end of the spear under his opponent’s knee and hearing his cry of pain with relish, but also being the son of a man who nearly murdered Curvo.

  
Dior fell to his knees under another savage blow and Celegorm used his advantage quickly, throwing at him bodily. He knocked Dior’s sword out of his grip and threw away his own spear as well, reaching with both bare hands toward Dior’s neck.

  
\- Your noble father almost killed my little brother in this way, did you know? – hissed Celegorm in Dior’s ear, leaning on him to keep him down.

  
Dior thrashed underneath him, choking for breath, clutching at Celegorm’s fingers with both hands but Celegorm did not relax his grip. The brat will die for the Silmaril, and for what his barbaric father did to Curvo.

  
He watched closely Dior’s scared eyes, his red face, felt the terrified flutter of artery beating with effort under his palms. He watched as the lad’s mouth open and close in a vain attempt to inhale some air into his lungs. And then, as Dior kept wriggling under him, another idea crossed Celegorm’s thoughts, cutting with sudden clarity through the emotional whirligig in his mind.

  
The boy will pay for his own mistakes and that of his parents. He will die for Silmaril, in the name of the Oath, but before… before the life burns out of him, he shall pay for his mother’s wrong choices as well.

  
Celegorm relented his grip. Dior wheezed in a gulp of oxygen. Not giving him too much time to contemplate the momentary relief, Celegorm moved his hands down and tore at Dior’s tunic. No more being ascetic, he thought, ripping off Dior’s clothes. This was no Nargothrond, no politics, no hopes for alliances nor his brother’s plotting restricted him now.

  
Dior made a sound as Celegorm reached his pants, finally realizing his opponent’s animus. His voice was too hoarse after Celegorm’s treatment to understand him properly but it was clearly a protest.

Celegorm smiled at him with one of his most alluring smiles, the effect turning rather ominous by the fresh blood still staining his face, and shred Dior’s trousers lower, baring his groin.

  
\- No, - rasped Dior and struggled to get free.

  
Celegorm left the breeches pooled around the other’s knees to make his wrestling harder. He held Dior pinned down with his thighs, straddling him, as the lad kicked out beneath him like an untamed colt mounted for the first time.

  
Celegorm reached to unlace his own breeches, throwing his head back to shake off the strands of hair that fell into his face. Dior punched him in the chest, hard, but Celegorm only laughed, capturing his wrist with one hand, pulling out his cock with the other.

  
\- Leave me! – cried Dior, with increasing panic. - Let go, you beast! You defiler! You are no better than servants of Morgoth!

  
\- Oh, but I am. I killed more of them alone than you and your grandpa combined. These are their pelts, - he brushed wolves’ fur cloak he wore, throwing the flap out of the way, baring his stomach and chest covered in war paints.

  
He positioned himself between Dior’s legs, smacking away his fists flying his way.

  
\- No! Let go!

  
\- You lost a fight already, - Celegorm reminded him, - this is the right of conquest and rule of nature, the stronger one takes the prize.

  
He thrust in and Dior’s scream reverberated in the air. Celegorm bared his teeth at the tight pressure around his prick. Dior’s body arched beneath him, chest bowing away from the ground. Celegorm grabbed him by the shoulders and pinned him down to the dried leaves on the forest floor. It might be winter in Beleriand already but here, in the hearth of Doriath, the remains of Mielian’s witchcraft still kept the cold snow outside.

  
Celegorm pushed his shaft further in and Dior howled again. His body trembled below Celegorm, lips quivered as if in crying but his eyes stayed dry, not a single drop spilled out.

  
Celegorm started fucking him, shifting one hand to Dior’s hips as the lad tried to twist them to escape Celegorm’s assault. The boy was so tight in the beginning, Celegorm was sweaty from exertion after the first few forceful movements.

  
With every shove Dior cried out but more quietly each time until it turned to pitiful whimpers. Celegorm didn’t stop thrusting his hips, panting hard in Dior’s neck. He evened his rhythm as it become easier, Dior’s body giving up under his onrush.

  
The lad lay more calmly now, too in pain to force his trembling muscles to fight back. Celegorm used the opportunity to change the position slightly, raising himself up, letting go of Dior’s shoulder.

  
Dior stayed down which gave Celegorm a chance to appreciate his looks. Dark tangled hair was spilled on the ground, few brown leaves clung to them. Golden circlet slipped off and rolled few feet away. Dior’s head rested on the litter, eyes closed and brows furrowed in a pained grimace. On his neck Celegorm’s fingerprints started to appear. His whole body was shoved up and down in time with Celegorm’s thrusts.

  
There was a rustle from the side and Celegorm looked that way, wary, stopping what he was doing to Dior. He relaxed as he saw his own servants approaching. Then he noticed two little figures dragged along by them. The elflings seemed whole, only scared out of their minds.

  
Dior craned his neck to look at the intruders also and Celegorm felt his body freeze as his eyes fell upon the little ones. He mouthed something but Celegorm didn’t hear.

  
\- Well? What do you want? – he asked his men in impatient voice, holding Dior down as he once more renewed his struggle. He slapped the prince in retaliation and Dior abated a bit. – Why are you here? I’m quite engaged at the moment.

  
\- We found them in the forest, - explained Seregon, holding the child by the scruff of the neck as if he was presenting hunted game to his master. – What shall we do with them?

  
Celegorm rolled his eyes.

  
\- And for this reason you’re interrupting me? Get rid of them. And leave me alone.

  
Seregon took in the way Celegorm held Dior, his eyes roved over their joined loins and smirked lewdly. Celegorm answered him with a smile of his own and an impatient dismissive gesture. Both of his men, along with their little prisoners, walked away.

  
Dior let out a desperate wail after them, reaching with his hand as if he could stop the doom, tears gleamed in his eyes for the first time. Celegorm leaned over him, still smiling.

  
\- See what you brought upon your children? – he murmured with his face close to Dior’s. – Your own children.

  
Dior spat at him.

  
\- Curse you! – he shouted. – Curse you and your family! Let your brothers fall this day and bring no more misery upon this world!

  
Celegorm’s grin turned into a sneer. He straightened and resumed his assault, slamming his hips with increased vigor. With delight he listened how it silenced his prey and drew new cries from him.  
None of them knew yet that Dior’s words turned out to be oracular, at least partly, as this day was meant to be the one when Curufin and Caranthir would meet their end.

  
Celegorm grabbed Dior’s hips with both hands now, pulling his pelvis closer in time with his own thrusts, impaling himself even deeper into the powerless body before him. His shoves became fiercer, more violent as he felt the wave of pleasure waiting just at hand’s reach.

  
Though Dior with face twisted in pain was a sight to see, Celegorm couldn’t prevent his eyes from narrowing in bliss and head falling backward until the only thing he saw was the pale light of the winter sun playing in the tops of the trees, as the orgasm seized him.

  
He didn’t notice Dior, using the moment of his distraction, reaching with his hand desperately, fingertips brushing the wood of Celegorm’s spear.

  
When Feanorion, his lust sated, turned back to flaunt at his prey, he felt sudden, dull pain in his stomach. That was the first thing his mind, slowed by recent pleasure, registered. Only then he saw Dior, lying beneath him with wild eyes and a grimace on his face, holding Celegorm’s spear in both hands.

 

\- You spawn of a man! – gritted Celegorm. – You-

  
Dior pushed Celegorm’s weapon deeper and Celegorm’s curse turned into a gasp, hands reaching toward his exposed front, feeling warm blood tickling from the gash.

  
Dior scrambled from under him, kicking, and Celegorm fell backward. Once more he saw light glittering in the leaves above his head. He lay on the forest floor, disheveled clothes barely covering anything; his own spear protruding from his stomach, wolves pelts painted in his own blood and he felt weirdly detached from his own body. He knew he was dying but the thought didn’t bring agitation but rather long craved peace, made him calmer, quieter, he felt the pulse of Arda coming from the ground and even with his own.

  
Through the fog coming into his vision he saw Dior, his defeated enemy, leaning above him in victory. Yet the boy stood ill-balanced and blood stained his hastily pulled on breeches. Celegorm, with a wicked feeling of vengeance, wondered whether the stories about an elf being violated is to die were true and whether Dior was Elda enough to follow Celegorm into the Halls of Mandos. Maybe he’d bring his slayer with himself to the land of death.

  
A thought about the Oath crossed his mind and whether he managed to fill it but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The only thought that made his heart leap once more was about Curvo. What his little brother will do without him? Then, the lights blackened out.

 


End file.
